


Unraveling You

by moonyandpadfoot07



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Café, Comfort, Coming Out, F/M, Falling In Love, Familial Abuse, Family, Forgiveness, Friendship, Gen, Getting Together, Hurt, Kissing, Love, M/M, Physical Abuse, Romantic Relationship, Secret Relationship, Secrets, mentions of abuse, mentions of depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4191564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonyandpadfoot07/pseuds/moonyandpadfoot07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry thinks he already knows Malfoy for the scum that he is, but everything changes when he learns that he's not the only one with a scar.</p><p>Alternate universe--Draco runs away from home after a quarrel with his father, Lucius Malfoy. Now penniless, he begins to work at a cafe and stumbles on Harry, his childhood nemesis. At first Harry is unable to stand him, not until he learns of a terrible secret Draco Malfoy has been hiding all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't know I was a Drarry shipper until I watched the films again. I am so glad I did.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco find out they're working at the same coffee shop. He's trying to hide it but Draco adores Harry so much. And Harry doesn't have a clue about it.

Harry left school in a hurry and was sure Ron and Hermione understood when he didn’t turn up to say goodbye after school. Harry feared if he came in late he’d leave a bad impression on his first day at work, and that wasn’t exactly what he wanted to happen.

Harry always wanted to work at a café because he loved the smell of coffee. It reminded him of mornings even if his wasn’t so pleasant all the time. He had been talking about this job for weeks now, and he couldn’t be happier when Mr. Hagrid, the café manager, called him yesterday to say that he got the job. Finally a few more hours away from that bloody house, meaning he wouldn’t have to put up with Aunt Petunia’s shrill voice every time she told him to do house chores. It wasn’t his favorite thing to do in the world, especially when Uncle Vernon was around because he always complained about Harry’s hair, how it looked like a bird’s nest and how badly it needed to be cut, _shaved_ even. Harry liked the way it looked on his head because it covered the lightning shaped scar on his forehead, another reason Dudley made fun of him when they were younger. Now Dudley cared less about how Harry looked like, doing more of physical blows than verbal ones. Not that he wasn’t already his cousin’s personal punching bag when they were twelve. Good-for-nothing Dudley beat the shit out of him every time Harry called him ‘pig’ or anything close. He didn’t look like it but Harry was a fast runner, so whenever he tried to fight back he just ran, and his obese cousin would run out of breath trying to catch him.

“Harry, you seriously need to move out of that house. Why wouldn’t they let you?” Hermione frowned as she stuck a fork in a piece of meat at lunch that day. Ron munched on his corn beef sandwich that he swore he hated, but Mrs. Weasley kept making him. Harry asked once if Ron had already told his mum that, but he shook his head swearing that if he did, she would scowl at him for a day.

“I am going to move out once I have the money to rent my own flat.” Said Harry. “And as for why they wouldn’t let me, I don’t know. My life would be easier if we aren’t all living under the same roof.” Harry let out a deep sigh.

Now he sat somewhere in the middle of a bus on his way to work. It’s already 2:43, leaving him exactly seventeen minutes to start his job as a barista.

 ***

“Ya got it all, Harry? Luna is here to help out if ya need somethin,’ right Luna?” Mr. Hagrid beamed at the two of them. He was a beefy man with a bushy beard and size twice as a normal man, and heavens he’s even bigger than Uncle Vernon. In contrast to his uncle, Harry didn’t find Mr. Hagrid intimidating. He’s nice and warm, and Harry thought he could switch the café manager for Uncle Vernon to be his relative.

The first time they met Harry's bright green eyes became the size of platters. He had not seen anyone as huge as Mr. Hagrid before. Come to think of it; the man could easily squish him with his fist, crushing him to death. A strange, cold sensation crept from his head all the way down to his toes, and Harry shook off this crazy idea of dying at the tender age of eighteen inside a café on his first day at work.

 _Merlin, I’ve got a wild imagination._ Harry cringed.

Mr. Hagrid’s eyebrows rose. “M’sorry?”

Did he say that out loud?

“Nothing, I…thank you, Mr. Hagrid.” Harry smiled. Mr. Hagrid just finished orienting Harry on how things work around the café. It took about thirty minutes for Harry to familiarize himself with all the buttons and keys in the cash register, the menu, and the place itself. There weren’t a lot of people today as Hagrid was saying, and most of the time the place was jammed-pack. Right now Harry could see a group of students cozied up in a space at the left side and a couple of giggling women seated on one of the couches. He could see the different angles of the café on the monitor in front of him, and figured there were four hidden cameras in the shop.

“Drop the ‘mister.’ Mah whole name’s Rubeus Hagrid, but I prefer being called 'Hagrid'."

Harry nodded. “Okay, Hagrid.” A small smile escaped his lips.

Luna bobbed her head gently to the left, examining Harry's face. Harry was aware Luna was looking at him, making him feel a bit queasy. 

Hagrid placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry compared Hagrid's fingers to the Hungarian sausages he fried every morning at the Dursley's, as they formed striking resemblance to the staple in his relatives' diet. "I think yah can handle it now. Luna,” Hagrid turned to her and jerked his head to Harry’s direction. “Help him out, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” A small, soft but high-pitched voice came out from her. 

Not long after that a lady customer in a gray trench coat and black heels approached the counter, and Luna signaled him to entertain the woman. Harry could only hope he’d do well at this.

She asked for a medium-sized cappuccino to go, and Harry prepared the drink as she waited. He wondered if the lady was a regular customer. She looked like someone who worked at an office,  _someone from a publishing company or something like that,_ Harry thought as he put the lid on the cup and kindly handed it to her. She didn't smile, but she was generous enough to give Harry a tip. 

The door opened, and there was the sound of tinkling wind chime. Harry looked up to see who it was.  A tall man of about five feet nine inches entered, and the first thing Harry noticed was his sleek blond hair and cold gray eyes. He had haughty good looks and sophistically dressed in black long sleeves and trousers.

Harry's lips pursed. He was coming close, Harry said to himself, dropping his gaze to the boy whom he felt nothing but hatred. He was sure Malfoy felt just the same towards him. 

Up to this day it remained a mystery why the loathsome Malfoy hated him so much. He owned possessions Harry could only dream of. Malfoy was undeniably wealthy, and the whole school knew he drove a Maserati. Harry only walked to school because honestly, his house--the Dursley's rather--was just a few blocks away. Unlike Ron and Hermione who had to ride a bus on the way to school, Harry enjoyed the cool air that swept on his face on his way to school.

No matter how much Harry tried to come up with an acceptable conclusion to that age-old question, he was left with nothing but wonder. Harry did not have anything Malfoy could possibly be jealous of.

But of all things he was uncertain of, Harry knew this; there was someone he disliked more than Dudley, and it was this miserable, stupid bastard who just walked in.

***

Draco’s eyes flicked to the direction of the boy standing at the counter, and his heart skipped a beat. He recognized the familiar chaotic jet-black hair and crooked glasses and the slender figure that stood a meter away from him, realizing that in this moment he did not belong here.

It was wrong for the two of them to meet _here_ , of all places. As soon as he acknowledged this, Draco wanted to spin around and step out of this bloody cafe.

Why, of all people, was Potter here?

Their eyes met for a second. That brief moment was enough to send his heart racing. Merlin, he should just kill himself.

After all the years of effort denying the truth, why was it hard to quit obsessing about Harry Potter? Draco loathed Potter as soon as Scarhead rejected being his friend. 

But one day he woke up and realized he liked Potter. He couldn't remember when or how, it just happened.

His parents always told him that someday, he was to produce a male heir for the Malfoy family. In order to do that he had to wed a woman from a respectable family, and pass on to his future children the traditions of their kin. But at the young age of eleven he knew his fate would differ from that of the ordinary male Malfoy.

His father, Lucius, was cold, inconsiderate and worst of all unforgiving. He would be unable to accept Draco for who he truly was. There's this incident when as a child, Draco was whipped in front of the servants for crying at school and Lucius yelled at him for being feminine and weak. 'No Malfoy cried in public', his father said. He was eight years old when it happened.

A surge of irritation boiled down Draco’s veins as soon as he realized he was taking a trip down memory lane. Right now wasn’t the time for that, and he had work to do for goodness’ sake. First day in a café and he was going to tear up like a baby. For quite some time now he had come to terms with himself. He liked men, end of story.

But _this,_ this was a different story. We were talking about Potter here, and fuck, he was good looking. He couldn't tear his gaze even if he wanted to. 

Draco put on the smug face Potter was familiar with for years. This was how Draco masked his true feelings; he had to be the arsehole Potter had known for seven years.

“Of all people,” Draco began. His stomach twisted in a knot after spewing out three words. _T_ _hree fucking words,_ and he didn’t know how to finish a sentence. Harry looked up to him. “Of all people,” Draco repeated, “it just has to be you.”

And there was that kissable frown on Potter's face. Damn it.

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed and his hands curled up to a fist. He wanted to beat the shit out of Malfoy once and for all, but today he must calm down. He was at work and couldn’t afford losing his job on the first day. Now that would humiliating.

“Ever care to change clothes? You’ve been wearing that for a week now.” Draco jeered at him. "You have to stop trying to be Weasley for wearing hand-me-downs."

“Fuck off, Malfoy.” Harry snapped.

Draco lips curled. “Where is the manager?”

“Why on earth are you looking for the manager?” Harry scowled at him. 

“I said, ‘where is the manager?’ Are you deaf or just plain stupid?”

That’s it. Harry lost his temper. He grabbed Draco’s shirt by the collar and spoke to him through gritted teeth. “If you’re asking for a fight, Malfoy, let’s do it outside.”

“Blimey, ‘Arry! Drop him!”

Hagrid came rushing to the scene and held Harry down. “Everyone’s lookin’!”

Harry wretched his eyes from Draco to the people inside the café. He was starting to feel embarrassed for his indecent behavior. Harry released him at once.

“Sorry. That won’t happen again.” Harry’s eyes dropped to the floor.

“That bettah be true ‘cause Darren here is goin’ to—“

“Draco,” Malfoy corrected him. He hated it when people called him ‘Darren’ or ‘David’ because who the fuck forgets a five-letter name? He was aware his name’s uncommon but fuck, wasn’t it supposed to be easy to remember because it was unusual?

“Draco, ‘right. Draco here is goin’ to work as a barista too, so ya’ll better get a long or ya both get sacked.” Hagrid finished with a sigh.

_“What?”_

No, no, no. There must be some mistake. Why the hell would a rich kid like Malfoy want to work at café? He didn’t need to. He’s got loads of money to spend.

“Here’s ya apron, son.” Hagrid tossed Malfoy a mass of green cloth which Malfoy caught mid-air. He smirked at Harry.

Draco proceeded to the work station behind him with Luna. Luna nodded at him, and asked Draco to wash the dishes on the sink. He obliged.

Luna walked up to Harry. “He was about to work yesterday but there’s an emergency, or so he said, and Hagrid decided to let Draco start today. You must be wondering why he just did that. Wash the dishes I mean.”

Harry glanced at Luna and blinked. How she read his mind he had no idea, but Luna’s striking him as a weird kind of person. The good kind of weird.

Luna nudged him on the side when a customer drew near.

 _Ron and Hermione are going to hear about this tomorrow_ , Harry thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Does anyone like to beta this story? I'm currently looking for one. Send me a direct message if you're interested. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Harry discovers Draco couldn't cook, and some things he wanted to ask but couldn't.

Coming home from a four-hour shift was never tiring, but today was the first time in two and a half weeks Draco felt seriously worn out.

Draco was on his way to his flat. He was supposed to take home dinner, but decided against it. The exhaustion compelled him to retire to bed instead of eating a decent supper.

He unlocked the door, twisting the knob, and saw that his room was messier than usual. Instead of picking up the clutter on the floor which primarily consisted of food wrappers and empty soda cans and crumpled papers, he crashed to bed. He buried his face on his pillow and welcomed the cooling sensation the lovely mattress provided. He touched the bedsheet and liked how it felt on his skin.

The weather today wasn’t hot and not too cold either, and Draco wondered if the days were usually like this; he didn’t pay attention to his surroundings lately.

Having this part –time job was extremely beneficial; not only he received salary in a regular basis, he also had the opportunity to take his mind off of things. Almost a month had passed since he last spoke to his father, and Draco was in no hurry to settle matters with Lucius. From time to time his mother, Narcissa, gave a ring and would ask about how Draco did by himself.

On his mind, Draco replayed the previous chat they had. The last time Mother called he just arrived to work, and asked Neville, another weird coworker working at the café (he found Luna a bit strange too), to take over the counter while he excused himself to pick up the ringing device inside his pocket.

The first few seconds of the call consisted of usual greetings: Narcissa inquiring him of things like his health, school, and friends, and Draco assuring her he was doing all right (and finally got a part-time job to cover some his expenses).

A pleasant surprise it was for Narcissa. She very well knew that her son needed not work never for a single penny. But following the unfortunate event of the 18-year old heir leaving the Manor, life was never quite the same for their family. Lucius called Draco’s flight as a “shameful act of rebellion.” He with his enormously huge ego declared Draco going home before the sun set that day, but his seemingly unwavering confidence faltered when his son did not return home for the night. Things turned for the worse—Lucius froze Draco’s account, blocked his ATM and credit cards. Narcissa tried to talk Lucius out of it, but the latter stood firm with his decision to let Draco on his own without any financial support. Narcissa’s heart was torn to pieces.

 “When are you coming back? Surely you miss home?” Draco recalled the voice of his mother filled with worry over the phone.

“I don’t have plans to.”

“Draco,” Narcissa sighed. “Your father didn’t mean to—“

He knew where this conversation was going. It irked him when his mother defended his father’s actions when clearly they were out of line. But Draco couldn’t care less about what his father had done. As long as he was not within his father’s reach, Draco would be able to sleep peacefully at night.

 In the past Draco patronized his father. He mimicked him from the way he spoke to the way he dressed, from the way he treated those who were in the same social standing to those who did not. Draco was just as arrogant, loathsome and bigoted as Lucius.

To young Draco, Lucius was the perfect father anyone could ever have.

Until _it_ happened.

And Draco wasn’t so sure if he knew his father at all.

 “Didn’t mean to beat the hell out of me, yeah? Well tell him this; if he thinks I’m shaming the family for being like _this…”_ Draco momentarily closed his eyes. _“…for being who I am,_ then he doesn’t have a son anymore. I’m tired of hearing all the crap he’s given me ever since I was a child, and I don’t think anyone deserves being treated the way he’s treating me right now.”

He was tempted to say more, but Draco knew better. He did not like making his mother upset. He might not have said it all the time but Draco loved his mother deeply.

After a few seconds’ pause, he could hear his mother’s voice on the line again.

“Draco, I…” There was another sigh. He knew she would ask him once more to come back home, but no matter how many times she did Draco did not oblige. “At least come back for me?”

“I can’t. I’m sorry, mum.” And he really was.

The conversation ended with another tear rolling down Narcissa’s cheeks, or so Draco imagined. Just as he was to drop the call he heard a sniff from the other end of the line.

 _Malfoys did not cry in public,_ Father said.

Curse Lucius for the scum that he was.

And then Draco’s mind went back to the day he ran away. The instant he stepped out of the house that day, it occurred to him how difficult it was to survive the life outside. He had no money—he left his wallet lying on top of a bedside table at the foot of a lampshade; his bag containing school stuff was sitting on his king-sized bed, and lastly his clothes were all neatly kept in his closet with no chances of getting and bringing them all with him.

Draco at long last had summed up the courage to talk back to his father, yes, but in the heat of the fight Lucius hit him straight in the face and Draco stormed out of the scene with a finger on his nose. In his periphery he saw Mother following him all the way down the stairs, begging him to stay, but he had enough. He could remember vividly the way she tugged his shirt, pleading him not to go.

The pain he felt on his face paled in comparison to all the heartbreak he endured for the past eighteen years. Father’s punch was both aggravating and eerily liberating.

Every time he laid down to bed the memory kept replaying itself over and over again. He read somewhere that when people remembered things, the mind shows a version of the memory the last time we saw it, explaining how memories fade over time.

But since the incident only happened less than a month ago, its memory was nowhere near the vanishing. He groaned at the thought.

Draco rolled to his side.  He was still wearing shoes.

He lazily toed them off until they fell on the floor with a soft thud. He didn’t bother removing his socks.

Despite the drama that occurred in his life for the past two weeks, today was rather a tranquil day. No crazy events, no angry customers. Nothing. Just a serene afternoon with his coworkers at the café. The place was not as crowded as it usually was, and Draco found himself a little bit lax during the day.

Apart from receiving the news that he passed one of his college entrance exams (one that should have made him wholly jubilant but for some reason he just didn’t care), Draco was astonished to learn that Harry Potter was actually a nice person when he invited him to dinner for the first time.

His mouth dropped open when Potter did just that.

Draco politely declined his offer. He said he was off to some place with his friends, which of course was a big, fat lie considering he avoided Crabbe and Goyle. Draco feared that Lucius would soon contact them to know his whereabouts.

Believe it or not, Draco triumphantly remained civil with his childhood nemesis. Truly an accomplishment worth celebrating. Never in their lives had Draco and Potter maintained a peaceful encounter until now, unless one would include the petty quarrel they exchanged in the first few minutes of Draco’s arrival at the café on day one. But other than that, things were pretty… good.

On the second day at work Draco felt awkward to interact with Harry without the teasing. What others treated as normal banters did not exist between him and the boy with the lightning shaped scar.

Silence was the best way to combat his urge to insult Harry, and using quiet as a means to retain tranquility in the atmosphere was undeniably effective.

Now he was beginning to regret turning down Potter for dinner.

But if he asked again soon, maybe Draco would say yes.

Draco drifted off to a calm, dreamless sleep.

***

The following day caught Draco in a foul mood. Not only did he miss first period, but he slept for good fourteen hours undisturbed. Not that he cared so much about grades—actually he rarely cared about anything anymore—it’s just that things weren’t how he liked them be. It’s too late to come to school now, so Draco didn’t bother getting up from bed until it was one in the afternoon.

It occurred to him that more or less it would soon be twenty four hours since he last ate. He scrambled his way to the fridge and opened it, only to see a half-empty carton of milk displayed before his eyes. Draco wasn’t certain if his situation was laughable or pitiful, but a small smile crept on his lips when he reached for the drink and downed it in three gulps. Never mind getting a glass; he drank it straight from the lid. No one was watching, no one to say ‘mind your manners.’ And for fuck’s sake he’s eighteen years old, he could do whatever he pleased.  Did he run away from home only to drink milk from a carton without someone scolding him for doing so?

He had two hours before his shift started, so he reckoned doing a bit of cleaning would help pass time. Draco wasn’t an unorganized individual, in fact he maintained a clean room back in the Manor. Discipline was one of Lucius Malfoy’s teachings, being implemented to Draco at such a young age. He couldn’t stand a messy room, so last night really was a miracle.He was a clean-freak, being too obsessed with cleaning that Draco thought of it as a means of taking control. And he loathed being out of control.

It took him half an hour to put his things in their proper places. Looking back, it was not required of Draco to clean up after himself because they had servants in the house. It was in middle school he learned that _not_ having servants in the house was normal in the 21 st century. That was when he realized he was ridiculously rich, and kids at school envied him for that. He was a snotty git growing up, and now he blamed Lucius for instilling narrow-minded notions in him when he was a child.

Draco showered, dressed up, and came in to work afterwards. He promised himself to buy a decent lunch before dropping by the café. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate anything with nutritional value.

***

The three of them now stood outside the shop—Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Hermione insisted that Harry show them the place, but Harry told her she only wanted to see the café because she was so intrigued with Malfoy being here. Hermione said that it was also part of the reason why, but _really_ it was Ron who suggested the idea first.

“Make sure you buy something,” Harry jokingly said to his two best friends upon entering the shop.

“You’re blocking the way.”

All of them turned around at once. Behind them was Malfoy in his usual dark long-sleeved shirt. He wore a cap today, Harry noticed. He saw on his periphery that his two best friends exchanged looks, but Harry’s eyes remained transfixed to Malfoy.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, confirming Malfoy’s presence.

“Excuse me,” Draco said coolly as he walked past them, clutching a brown paper bag on his left hand. Their eyes pinned on Malfoy’s back.

“That bloke really is working here,” Ron said at last.

Hermione shot a suspicious glance at Harry. “You haven’t been fighting with him lately, have you?” Her eyes squinted at him.

“No, I haven’t.” Harry said defensively.

“Don’t you find this strange? Maybe he’s following you.” She suggested.

Harry let out an exasperated sigh. “No, he isn’t. Why would he do that?”

“It doesn’t make sense that he’s working his bloody arse off on weekday afternoons.” Ron paused. “You think the Malfoys are going bankrupt of somethin’?” Said Ron, shrugging. It was a silly idea, but Harry considered the thought.

“Plus, he’s acting strange. He is _not_ picking fights and insulting you anymore.” Ron looked from Harry to Hermione, then back to Harry again. His smile turned into a huge grin. “I think he fancies you.”

Harry’s face turned sour. “What the fuck?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. She motioned them to come inside the café, leading the way to their table. “Let’s just stay out of his business.” She said as she watched Malfoy come out from a door with a sign that said, ‘Employees Only.’

 “Last night I talked to him.” Harry admitted.

“You did?” Ron asked, sitting down. Hermione followed suit. She began to pull out books from her bag, and nudged Ron to do the same.

“Yeah, I asked him to dinner.”

“ _What?”_ Ron and Hermione said in unison.

“Look, let’s talk about this next time. It’s almost three.” Harry looked at the clock hanging on the yellow-painted wall. “I should go.”

“Pay up, ‘Mione. You lost the bet.” Ron’s face lightened up. They were betting on who’s going to talk to whom first—Harry to Malfoy or Malfoy to Harry.

Hermione folded her arms. “Fine, it’s my treat.”

Ron’s face filled with glee. “I told you Harry’s going to do it!”

Hermione ignored Ron as she pulled out a Mathematics book. “And you should pay attention to everything I am going to teach you today, Ronald.”

Seeing that the two were starting to get busy with schoolwork, Harry left the pair to themselves. When he reached the work station, he found Luna and Neville who were busying themselves making drinks.

Harry caught Ron’s eye and raised his eyebrows at him. Ron was mouthing something to him that Harry was unable to understand.

 _What?_ Harry mouthed back.

And Harry finally got what those two syllables meant. _Malfoy,_ Ron mouthed.

 _Shut up._ Harry advised him.

Ron smirked.

“Harry, can you bring this to the couple over there?” Neville asked politely.

“Yeah, sure.” Harry carried the tray that contained a plate of spaghetti aglio e olio, a ham and cheese Panini, and two cups of black coffee. He reached the couple’s table and a woman around her early sixties smiled at him for bringing their food. The man sitting across her flipped a page from the book he was reading, but put it down when he saw that food had already arrived. He took off his half-moon spectacles and looked up to Harry.

“Can I request for a glass of water?”

Harry nodded. “Okay. Anything else?”

The woman shook her head. “Thank you, dear.”

Harry went back to get a glass of water when he saw Malfoy with his arms folded, standing in front of the stove. He muttered something Harry didn’t catch, and seeing how problematic (and slightly hilarious) Malfoy looked, Harry asked him if anything was wrong.

“Do you need help?”

Malfoy looked at him, his eyes widening. “Uh…”

“Wait a sec,” Harry left with a glass in his hand. Now Draco was feeling a little embarrassed, his cheeks burning when Harry came back.

Draco looked at him incredulously. Just as when he needed help Potter arrived to save the day, as if some force was mocking him for having a crush on Potter. His heart beat wildly inside his chest as Potter stood there with a kind look on his face.

 “Cook this for me,” Draco said in a not-so-friendly way that sounded almost like he was ordering Potter to do it for him. Scratch that. He literally told Harry to cook for him.

“What? Why do you…” Harry’s voice trailed off. And then an idea popped up on his head, and he stared at Malfoy in disbelief. “You…you don’t know how to cook, do you?”

Draco went quiet, looking him in the eye longer as he was supposed to. “Fuck,” He scratched his head, his blond hair getting messier while he continued stroking his hair. “No, I do not.”

Harry tried not to laugh, but the seriousness in Malfoy’s face was hilarious. “Are you for real?”

“I’ll learn how to cook.” Harry could see how Malfoy was trying to hide his embarrassment. “But for now do it for me.”

Harry smirked. He could think of a dozen things to say to Malfoy as a come-back, but Harry stopped himself before he did. “Okay, I’ll do it. But first say the magic word.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“It starts with a ‘p’ and ends with an ‘e.’”

Malfoy made a mental note to kick Harry’s arse when he finds the chance. “Fine. Please?”

“Alright then,” Harry was now smiling from ear to ear. “Now what should I cook?”

Making fun of Malfoy never felt so good.

***

Now that Harry had discovered that Malfoy was not cut out to be a cook, he made a promise to himself to teach Malfoy just so he could show him that he was better in some things.

No, seriously. He wanted to teach him because Malfoy might get sacked when Hagrid finds out.

And there was one more reason why he wanted to spend time with his childhood enemy—Harry wanted to clarify something.

For some reason, he felt that Malfoy was…

Never mind.

Surely Malfoy wasn’t? But no matter how many times Harry tried to forget the idea, it kept bugging him. He hadn’t mentioned this to either Ron or Hermione because he thought doing so was… inappropriate?

Not that he cared about Malfoy or anything, but Harry could not simply ignore the signs.

Two and a half weeks sharing a shift with Malfoy, Harry was able to notice a few things: 1) Draco always wore long sleeves, and not just that, his clothes had to be in dark tones too; 2) staring into the distance, always drifting off to somewhere; 3) he had never seen Draco eat before, meaning he maybe wasn’t eating right or not at all.

Harry pondered for a moment before executing the plan in his head. He invited Malfoy to dinner yesterday, but the guy refused. Maybe if he did again, Malfoy would again say no.

_Why am I pushing myself on him if he clearly did not want my friendship?_

No, Harry did not want to be friends. He simply wanted to be nice.

 _What was so wrong with being friends with Malfoy?_ Harry asked himself. It was so odd to hear the word ‘friendship’ and ‘Malfoy’ in the same sentence that he cringed. But then again, there was nothing wrong with trying.

And it could be an opportunity to learn more about Malfoy—again, not that he cared or anything.

The idea wasn’t so bad, Harry reassured himself. After all he was just going to ask him to dinner as a friendly gesture. They had been coworkers for weeks now. They should enjoy each other’s company at the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I'm still looking for a beta. Are you interested? Send me a message!


End file.
